Every Girl Does It

Chapter Eight



I don’t remember when or why, but somehow about halfway through the flight my body decided it was exhausted and fell asleep on me. The last thing I remember is slurring my words as I asked Preston about the Disney movie we were watching.

I’m fully awake now, but I don’t want to move. There’s something hard underneath my head, and I’m scared to open my eyes. My nose wakes up as well and I smell something that I can only describe as pure man; a mixture of aftershave and some sort of spicy cologne next to me. Think, I command myself. Did I fall asleep on the window or on him? Oh my gosh! If I fell asleep on him, that means I could have drooled on him. I tend to do that when I sleep. When I was at church camp in Jr. High, the girls would call me water works because of all the drool that came out of my mouth when I slept.

Okay, Amanda, it's not a big deal. Just open one eye. You don’t even have to open two. Just take a sneak peek. I open one eye and look. Preston is happily reading and I am, in fact, leaning on his shoulder, and might I add that I look rather awkward. I’ve pulled my legs up into the seat and am leaning my entire body on his side.

“Hey, you’re up!” Kristin turns around and is irritatingly chipper.

“Uh, yeah.” My voice is hoarse from my nap, and I can’t stop the yawn that is about to swallow the plane is darkness. Being quick yet discreet, I push away from Preston’s shoulder praying no one notices or will comment that I’ve just been using him as a pillow.

“Why were you just laying there with your eyes open, it looked kind of freaky, Amanda,” Kristin teases. I want to stuff my pillow in her mouth. Does she not get it? I feel shaking next to me and turn to face the music.

Preston is staring at me with a calculating glance as if to say, “I know that you know that I know that you fell asleep on me; and I’m holding it over your head for eternity”.

“I must admit,” Preston says as he looks between me and Kristin. “Never have I seen a girl drool quite as much as Amanda. Are you dehydrated?”

At this Brad turns around and gives Preston a high five who then in turn winks at Kristin who gives me an apologetic, “Sorry, do you want me to defend you?” look.

I roll my eyes and pretend to be grumpy, that is until I smell. “Hey is that…” Pointing at the bread sitting in front of Preston I feel my mouth begin to water. Be still my heart. Carbs!

Then everything happens in slow motion, and I can’t be blamed for any of my actions. I’m just recovering from a nap and still out of it. Fast as possible, I slap Preston on the back of the head while simultaneously grab his bread and proceed to stuff it in my mouth.

He turns, mouth open, to face me. “Spit it out.”

At the moment I have an entire roll in my mouth and I can’t speak, so I shake my head no.

“Spit it out,” he says again, this time holding out his hand in front of my mouth. He’s at least smiling.

This time I make a noise with my head shaking.

Then he lunges toward me to grab my head with his hands. I shake and start spitting bits and pieces out to please him. Then he does something that I swear, and you’ve heard it here first, I will never forgive him for.

He licks his hand and wipes it across my face.

“Okay, you can have it,” he says as he sits back down in his seat.

My face is now wet, but at least I have the bread. I swallow before I punch him in the arm and ask, “What was that for?”

He doesn’t meet my gaze. “Well, I figured it was only fair. Since you drooled on me so much and stole my snack. Did you like that?” He turns to smile then sees my face and laughs instead. “I think I bring out violence in you.” I feel water dripping down my chin and want to scream.

“Didn’t you say you had a thing about water?” He leans in a little too close for comfort “Does that include bodily fluids, too? Like spit?”

He stops inches from my face and smirks. “How do you even kiss a guy if you can’t handle a little spit, huh?”

Wanting to spit on him for saying such a thing, I take evasive action and grab the water bottle on his tray and pour it over his head. It was well deserved for such a cruel comment.

“Oh my,” I say as I put my little finger to my chin. “I guess I’m not so scared of water after all. Towel?”

Just then Brad turns around to ask Preston a question. He burst into laughter when he sees little water droplets cascading from Preston’s hair. The little rat, he even looks good all wet. If he had done the same thing to me, I’d look like a caged raccoon. How is it fair that he looks like he just got done shooting a commercial underneath a waterfall?

“Dude, you okay?” Brad asks as he nudges Kristin to turn around. She puts her hand over her mouth and chuckles then shoots me daggers as if to ask, “Did you do this?”

I look away quickly as I try to avoid any sort of eye contact from her. The whole mom radar makes me feel guilty. Now I wonder if I pushed it too far. What’s wrong with me? He must work hard thinking of ways to bring out the worst in me.

Preston wipes his face with the towel I threw at him and grunts. “I’m okay, just needed a little refreshing, isn’t that right, Amanda?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny his accusations,” I say, putting my hand over my heart, forcing myself not to blink as three sets of judgmental eyes point my way.

“Are we there yet?” I ask as I pull out my new magazine. Maybe if I change the subject everyone will forget my little water incident.

Preston looks at me and scowls before asking Kristin if she has a sedative she can give me for my irritability, at which I then openly mock him by repeating what he asked in a whiny voice. Maybe I do need a sedative or something.

“She doesn’t do well in small spaces,” Kristin answers as she gives me a pitiful look.

“Oh my gosh, Mrs. Butterworth!” Jumping out of my seat forgetting that my seatbelt is still attached, I notice people are staring.

“Easy, tiger,” Preston says as he helps unbuckle me. “And why are you yelling your cats name in first class? People are staring.” He whispers too close to my face if you ask me.

“I forgot to leave her food and water. She has to be going crazy on this flight. Do you think they’ll let me run down there and slip her something?” Asking this question must seal Preston’s assessment of my mental, or lack there of, stability. Preston’s expression is calculating, and I wonder if he thinks I actually am crazy.

“Um sure, Amanda, why don’t we just ask the pilot if you can go into the cargo storage while the plane is moving and feed your cat, sounds totally reasonable?” Sarcasm drips off his every word.

“I think I hate you.” I re-buckle my seatbelt.

“You do not. You just hate me for what I bring out of you.”

“Which is?” I snort.

“Honesty,” he answers smugly.

“I was honest enough before you came along,” I fire back.

He leans over the arm rest towards me making my heart feel like it’s going to jump out of my chest. Surely he can hear it. “You get frustrated easily.” He picks up his hand as if to brush my hair from my face and wipes next to my mouth leaving where he touched permanently tingly. “You had a little leftover bread.”

I then took the liberty of punching him square in the chest before turning toward the window in frustration. The pilot then came over the loud speaker letting everyone know we’d be landing within the next hour. Hold on, Mrs. Butterworth.